


it's taken me all this time to see

by ewidentnie



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Anal Sex, Barebacking, M/M, Rimming, Toronto Blue Jays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 17:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15756165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewidentnie/pseuds/ewidentnie
Summary: Troy's 31 when he gets traded.It isn't anything he has a say in - which he's furious about, don't get him wrong - but life's too short to get worked up over things you can't change, and it's better for both his blood pressure and his batting average when he finally decides to stop being bitter about it, and let himself move on.He should— he should probably stop trying to think about this like it was a relationship, though, because if that was his breakup then his rebound is enough to put any grown man to shame.





	it's taken me all this time to see

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Van-Norrison (rnrcircus)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rnrcircus/pseuds/Van-Norrison) in the [boysofsummer18](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/boysofsummer18) collection. 



> for the following prompt in good baseball boys of summer, although i really took it as an excuse to finish up something i'd been picking at for a few months
>
>> Player A is a fading superstar passed his prime, Player B is a hot shot rookie who's maybe on his way to ROTY. 
>> 
>> Aka, Someone write me some age gap fic.
> 
> absolutely no rereading or editing whatsoever, we slam dunk our shit on AO3 as soon as we write the last word like men. there are additional warnings in the end notes, please follow them if needed. title from taking back sunday's homecoming. 

Troy's 31 when he gets traded.

It isn't anything he has a say in - which he's furious about, don't get him wrong - but life's too short to get worked up over things you can't change, and it's better for both his blood pressure and his batting average when he finally decides to stop being bitter about it, and let himself move on.

He should— he should probably stop trying to think about this like it was a relationship, though, because if that was his breakup then his rebound is enough to put any grown man to shame.

 

The locker Troy gets assigned is in some pretty prime clubhouse real estate, close to the showers and far enough away from the media entrance that he doesn't feel like a petting zoo exhibit every home game. On the right of his locker is one of the dome's sloping walls, arcing just high enough that he doesn't have to worry about hitting his head.

On the left of his locker is Josh Donaldson's, and he is _so_ woefully unprepared.

Troy's figured out how to handle a lot of things in his years in the pros - breaking balls, hitting slumps, turning a double play on unfamiliar infield dirt - but Josh? Josh is almost too much to handle.

He's a fresh-faced rookie straight out of triple-A Buffalo, only called up due to a season-ending injury to the regular third baseman, whose driving purpose in life is, apparently, driving in runs and driving Troy fucking insane.

The kid's got a shitty haircut hiding what could be a pretty face, if he got those floppy curls out of the way, and a chip on his shoulder the size of— the size of fucking Ontario, jesus christ. Troy can't exactly blame him - he knows what it's like, when you first get called up and you're waiting for the other shoe to drop, the inevitable news that you're heading back down, that someone else is gonna take the spot that you've clawed your way into and are barely holding onto - but that doesn't mean Josh has to be so damn _pissy_ all the time. It presents as cockiness, but Troy spends enough time next to Josh, when no one else is looking and Josh thinks no one is looking, to know that approximately 95% of it is a front.

Doesn't mean he's any easier to get along with, though.

 

It comes to a head about three weeks after the trade. It's a messy game all around - they eke out the win on a run scored on a wild pitch, but that's only after two runs score on an error from Josh, a sloppy play he tried to make when he should've just kept the ball in his pocket.

The W means nobody's too cut up about the error except Josh himself, banging around the clubhouse, shoulders drawn up like he expects someone to tear strips off him at any point now. Troy keeps an eye on him as the others start clearing out, but the room's near empty now and Josh isn't any less tense.

He thought he'd left the whole mentoring thing behind in Denver, but apparently it's his turn up to bat again. Troy makes up his mind, coming up to Josh and clapping a hand on his shoulder, fingers digging into the tense muscle there.

"Hey," he says, tone friendly and also holding no room for argument, "let's go get something to eat, yeah?"

Josh's shoulders sag just the littlest bit, but he still looks like he's about to head to his own execution. "Sure," he says. "Where do you wanna go?"

 

They end up in one of the restaurants on King West near the Lightbox, artsy enough that none of the other customers give them a second look. Josh doesn't say anything as the waiter takes their drink order, hunched over and staring into his water - in a fucking mason jar, jesus, can this place not afford actual water glasses? - but whatever. Troy orders them both a beer - he's pretty sure Josh is legal here, and if he doesn't like what Troy's picked then he should've spoken up.

"So, today's game," Troy says, casually taking a drink of his water and not-so-casually nearly chipping a tooth off the edge of his glass. He hates this hipster bullshit.

"I fucked up," Josh says, "I know."

“You fucked up,” Troy agrees. Across the table, Josh does a bad job of hiding his flinch. Troy blows out a breath, trying to figure out the best way to approach this. “Look, it _happens_. We all have games like this — but we still won, nobody’s blaming you for anything, so all you gotta do is just take this as a learning experience. You’re a better player than that,” he says.

Josh just looks at him suspiciously. Usually this kind of motivational talk is good enough to get the rookies loosened up, but Josh is a little tougher to figure out. “You think so?” he asks.

He hasn’t been here long, but it’s been enough time to know that the kid beside him in the locker room and on the field is something special - still raw, but full of talent that’s just waiting to get molded into shape. “I know so,” Troy says, and means it; if it means he has to do the molding, then so be it.

Josh— Josh just _smiles_ at him, like a sunflower turning towards the sun, his expression opening up—

and Troy is in so much fucking trouble.

 

It’s like nobody has ever actually said they believe in Josh, or at least nobody whose opinion has actually mattered to him, but it’s amazing how Josh’s entire demeanour changes after that, like he’s no longer trying to fight Troy anymore on the littlest of things just on sheer principle.

It’s almost endearing, how much Josh is trying to get on Troy’s good side now, even if he doesn't realize that's what he's doing. He drinks the beer Troy ordered for him without complaint, even as he tries to hide the face he pulls at the first sip; kid's probably ruined his tastebuds drinking nothing but Keystone Light or some shit the past few years.

The past few weeks have just been Josh biting his tongue and snapping at people when he can't do that anymore, but now that Troy is apparently on the list of people he likes, he just will _not stop talking_. About baseball, about the city, about the bigs - he’s got a lot of opinions on just about everything, and apparently Troy’s gonna be on the receiving end of all of them - but he still hangs on every single word Troy says, leaning forward into the conversation and nodding along like everything Troy is saying is absolutely brilliant.

It’s not, he decides, exactly a bad feeling.

 

He was almost relieved to have left the veteran player’s role behind in Denver; he doesn’t have to pick up all the slack here in Toronto with Russ and Joey here, but— _one_ rookie can’t hurt.

But something changes after that night: Josh’s attention shifts, ever so subtly but also suddenly, from antagonism to a sort-of hero worship.

Sort-of hero worship, because the looks Josh starts shooting at him, in their corner of the locker room, when nobody else is around, are definitely not contained within that category. Josh probably thinks he’s being subtle, but Troy’s spent enough of his life being watched in some way or another that he can tell when there are eyes on him.

That’s not the problem.

The problem is that Troy, god help him, is actively considering it.

 

All internal conflict aside, it’s more than easy enough to fall into an easy chemistry with Josh - in some ways, it’s a shortstop’s dream come true, having a third baseman who’s so willing to take Troy’s suggestions. Suggestions and more, probably, but Troy’s being _good_.

The kid finally gets his first big league homer on the first game of a homestead, a no-doubter straight to the Flight Deck above centre. He’s almost bashful, after the game, accepting congrats from the rest of the team with a sort-of grace that Troy didn’t know he was capable of.

He invites Josh back to his for a celebratory drink after - nothing unusual for them; Josh is rooming with a couple of the other younger guys downtown in the Fashion District and he usually appreciates the opportunity to get away from them for a while.

There’s a different energy in the car tonight, though, something almost sparking in the air, like static electricity. Josh is fidgeting in his passenger seat, fiddling with the radio - he can’t decide on one station to settle on; keeps jumping between top 40's to country to pop rock. Troy chalks it up to leftover adrenaline - he was a rookie once, too - and just lets him, keeping an eye on him through the rearview mirror.

Troy’s house isn’t far from the dome, and most of the downtown traffic has cleared up; what’s left is all going the opposite way, out of the city, and it’s not long before they’re pulling into Troy’s driveway. “Come on in,” he says, killing the engine and undoing his seatbelt, reaching towards the door handle, before a hand on his wrist stops him.

“Wait,” Josh says. His seatbelt’s undone, too, but he’s leaning towards Troy, across the centre console, not looking at all like he’s going to get out of the car. “Troy. I gotta— I gotta know.” He licks his lips, nervous; Troy watches the route of his tongue without even thinking. “Tonight - are just asking me in for drinks, or are you asking me for this?” He lets go of Troy’s wrist, placing his hand on Troy’s thigh instead, high enough that there’s no way he can misread the intentions behind it.

Which— oh. He should’ve seen this coming; he doesn’t usually misread things like this.

Carefully, slowly, giving himself time to think, he lifts Josh’s hand off his leg, holding it in his own instead, loose enough that Josh could pull away without any trouble. “That’s not what I meant,” he says, looking at Josh. Josh won’t meet his eye, but he goes on. “I wouldn’t _mind_ ,” he says, squeezing Josh’s fingers briefly, “but I don’t want you to do this just because you think I want it.”

That finally gets Josh to look up at him. “What? No,” he says, a little outraged, “of course I want this. Have you seen yourself? I mean—“ and he cuts himself off, surging forward to kiss Troy instead. He’s practically got a lapful of third baseman now, Josh trying to climb over and into Troy’s lap like there’s enough space in the car, kissing him deep and desperate and sloppy.

“Wait,” Troy says, pulling back. “No room here,” he says, when Josh just looks at him, almost pouting. “Let’s go inside.” They both know what he means by that, this time.

 

Neither of them care about that drink anymore; Josh just makes a beeline straight to Troy’s bedroom, already pulling his sweater over his head when Troy gets there. 

“Come here,” Troy says, sitting on the edge of the bed. Josh just drops his sweater on the floor, like he owns the damn place, walking over to stand between Troy’s legs. He pulls Josh down, kissing him slow and careful - no need to rush things - but Josh has his own ideas, pushing Troy down by the shoulders so he can climb on top of him.

Josh is already semi-hard; he makes that clear when he grinds down against Troy, cock thickening up against his hip. He wants to take this a little slower, though; they’ve got time and he’s well past the age of coming in his pants like a teenager. “Hey, take it easy,” he murmurs. “No need to rush.”

The sound Josh makes could very possibly be classified as a whine. “Then what do you _want_ ,” he asks, staring down at Troy. The pupils of his eyes are so blown out, there’s barely any blue visible.

Troy takes a moment to think; the rush of possibilities is almost overwhelming. “On your back,” he decides, patting Josh on the hip. Josh goes easily, rolling over so he’s sprawled out in the middle of the bed, blond hair pale against the dark fabric of Troy’s sheets.

Josh is only wearing a thin training shirt, some slinky athletic fabric, issued by the team. It’s easy enough to push that up to get at the buckle of his belt, unnecessarily trying to hold up his jeans - they’re tight enough that he doesn’t need it, really. “Can I?” Troy asks, runnings his fingers along the skin exposed at Josh’s waist, grazing the metal of the buckle.

He can visibly see Josh swallow, probably a little nervous, but he’s still eager. “Please,” Josh says - and oh, isn’t that _nice -_ pushing his hips up the tiniest fraction into Troy’s hands, a sudden, fluid move.

“You ever done this before?” Troy asks, pulling the belt out of its loops and then moving on to Josh’s fly, flicking the button open and sliding the zipper down.

“I’ve had sex,” Josh says, offended. He arches up obligingly as Troy tugs at his pants, trying to get them off; they’re really too tight, where does he even manage to find them? 

“That’s nice,” Troy says, finally winning his fight against Josh’s jeans. He tosses them— onto the floor, he can deal with picking those up later. “Not what I was asking, though.” He’s wearing black boxer briefs, skintight - they must’ve been, to fit underneath those damn pants - and already a little damp at the front. It’s almost more obscene, the bulge of Josh’s cock underneath fabric; he palms it just to see how it feels under his hand and to hear Josh hiss. “Ever had anything in you?”

Watching as closely as he is for any sign of freaking out, he’s in a great position to see just how red Josh turns at the question, but he doesn’t look away, just looks straight at Troy. “Just fingers,” he says, before his chin takes a stubborn set, same way it does when he’s at the plate. “I think you should fuck me, though.”

Yeah, that fits into Troy’s plans - slowly forming, more concrete now - just fine. “Eventually,” Troy says, tugging down Josh’s underwear before nudging his thighs open a little wider so Troy can settle between them. His cock jumps free, already starting to curve up towards his belly, thick and nicely shaped - Troy just has to duck down to get a taste of it, mouthing at the head, holding Josh down by the hips - before moving on to his thighs. They’re pale without much chance to get any sun there; and apparently sensitive - Josh jumps a little when Troy nips at one, but that’s not his real goal.

“Stop me if you don’t like anything,” Troy tells him, before spreading his cheeks open with his thumbs so he can lick at his hole.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Josh says. He squirms away but it’s out of surprise; he’s shoving himself back onto Troy’s tongue in the next second. “Troy— what— holy shit, _what_ —“

“Easy,” Troy says, stroking one of Josh’s thighs, trying not to get kicked in the face. “Nobody’s ever eaten you out before?”

“No,” Josh says. The way he says it sounds a lot like _get on with it_ , though, and Troy can take a hint.

He ducks back down to get his mouth back on Josh. Just long strokes with his tongue at first, but he can feel Josh relax, bit by bit, under his fingers, and soon enough he can slip his tongue in without any resistance.

Josh opens up steadily; it’s not long before he’s loose enough that Troy can slide a finger in alongside his tongue. Josh keens, high-pitched; he’s so _sensitive_. He’s wet enough from spit that one finger wasn’t a problem, but they’re gonna need lube if they go any further.

Troy pulls back, sitting up so he can reach over to dig in the nightstand for the bottle he knows is there. Josh, underneath him, makes a sound that’s probably meant to be a protest but sounds more like a whine. He gets his other hand on Josh’s cock, stroking lightly - he’s a professional athlete, he’s at least coordinated enough for this - which at least seems to pacify him until he can finally locate the lube.

“It’s probably gonna be cold,” Troy says, slicking his fingers up. The nicer thing to do would be to warm it up, first, but he’s not quite patient enough for that, not with Josh spread out below him like this, looking up at him like he’s got stars in his eyes.

“I don’t care,” Josh says, kicking lightly at Troy’s side. “Just hurry up and put your fingers back in me, I feel too empty.” And yeah, Troy can do something about that.

Two fingers go in easy enough, now that there’s lube easing the way. He works Josh open, nice and easy, and it isn’t long before he can slide in a third and not much longer before Josh is trying to ride his fingers, making these breathless little sounds that go straight to Troy’s cock.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” Troy says, propping himself up on his hands so he can look at Josh’s face.

“Okay,” Josh just says, wide-eyed and a little breathless. He spreads his legs a little wider at Troy’s urging - the kid’s so _flexible_ , it’s almost obscene - and holds his thighs open without Troy even having to ask as he leans over to grab a rubber.

Josh, underneath him, makes a noise of protest. “Don’t,” he says, “I wanna feel you.”

“Probably not a good idea,” Troy says, but takes his hand out of the drawer anyway, settling back on his haunches. He’s willing to be convinced. “You sure?"

“Yeah,” Josh says, like it’s obvious. He’s gonna be the death of Troy, at this rate.

Josh is tight, even after all the time Troy’s already spent eating him out and then fingering him open; he has to ease in slow, inch by inch, stopping whenever Josh’s face tightens up in discomfort until he adjusts and Troy can move again.

"Fuck, Troy," Josh says, when Troy's fully seated, his voice going all breathy, "I feel so full." He presses a hand down on his lower belly, as if he'd be able to feel Troy's cock inside him that way. Troy's hips jerk at that, inadvertent. “I can feel you moving inside me,” Josh says, almost in awe.

None of the filthy shit Josh is saying is on purpose, he's not that sneaky, which means he has no fucking clue what that's doing to Troy. It's all bad smut dialogue; kid's probably learned how to fuck from shitty free internet porn, but he means every single word of it - doesn’t know how to say anything else - and that’s what takes it from something cheap to what seems like the hottest thing in the damn world, right now.

Josh is too worked up to last much longer; he goes impossibly tight when Troy gets a hand on his cock, enough that Troy has to take a moment to catch his breath - he’s not coming first, not when the prospect of feeling Josh come while on his dick is in front of him.

“I’m close,” Josh says, reaching down to wrap a hand around Troy’s, fingers linking with his. He doesn’t try to dictate a rhythm, just hangs on him as Troy uses their hands to stroke Josh off, coming all over their fingers and his stomach. He goes all loose and limp, pulling Troy in close and clinging tight, and it doesn’t take much more before Troy’s coming too, buried to the hilt.

He takes a moment to catch his breath before pulling out so he can clean up the mess they’ve made of Josh; not exactly the easiest matter, what with how boneless he feels, or Josh’s best octopus impression, but he manages. Those All-Star nominations weren’t for nothing, after all.

“You and me, kid,” Troy says, swiping his fingers through some of the come that’s leaked onto Josh’s thighs before offering it to him, “we’re gonna be great.”

Josh laps it up almost immediately, like he didn’t even think about pushing Troy’s hand away. “The greatest,” he says, tongue darting out to catch a stray drop; blue eyes bright and fierce.

 

A few days later: Troy hits a double to the opposite field. Josh, up to bat right after him, swings at the first pitch and knocks it out of the park.

He waits just past home plate for Josh to finish circling the bases, like any good guy would to celebrate his teammate’s home run. Extends a hand for a high-five that Josh takes, then wraps an arm around Josh’s waist, enough space between them for it all to still look above-board - just a teammate congratulating a rookie on another big league home run.

“You and me, kid,” Troy says, as they head back to the dugout together. Like this, he’s the only one who can see the blush peak on the tips of Josh’s cheekbones, gone before they head down the steps.

“You and me,” Josh says back, grinning brighter than the stadium lights. 

**Author's Note:**

>  **additional warnings** : there's a fairly significant age gap between the two characters (~10+ years); the younger one's age isn't specified but he's at least 19. the characters engage in unprotected sex without extensive discussion, but as a public health student i feel obligated to state that unless you’ve thoroughly discussed your sexual histories with each other and can be 100% confident that you and your partner(s) have been tested and are clean, wrap it before you tap it.
> 
> i was not kidding when i said i did not look over this at all before posting; i take full ownership of any and all mistakes but also refuse to fix them. the restaurant they eat at at king street is made up; king street is actually so much _worse_ \- one time i went for lunch at a place that straight up just had knives embedded in their tabletops.
> 
> [tumblr](http://ewidentnie.tumblr.com) / [twitter](http://twitter.com/ewidentny).


End file.
